Leave No One Behind
by lookslikeajobforthewinchesters
Summary: Neal leaves the office without a goodbye the day Peter cuts his anklet for the last time. A phone call to a suddenly out-of-service number confirms Peter's dread-filled suspicions. Peter isn't looking forward to seeing Neal's empty desk in the morning.


Peter felt absolutely wretched.

Yesterday was Neal's last day on the tracking anklet and he'd left the office without so much as a goodbye to everyone at the end of the day. He hadn't said anything to Peter. He hadn't given any indication as to where he would be going or when he'd be leaving.

All it took was the permanent removal of Neal's 'leash' to make Peter realize that Neal was his best friend. Sure, he was irritating, easily distracted by beautiful women and coffee, really quite snooty at times and, well…a _felon_, but he was other things, too. He was smart (and Peter loved smart), he did the right thing when it counted, and he was damn good at undercover work.

Peter knew other agents whose partners had died in the line of duty, but he didn't know anyone whose partner had just _left_ them. It felt like what he imagined it would feel like if El told him she wanted a divorce. He didn't want to admit it, but Neal had been his partner since day one and the prospect of going into the office tomorrow and trying to work alone…it was not a nice feeling.

He sat at the kitchen table for an hour after dinner and stared at his cell phone before finally dialling Neal's illegally obtained phone. When he got an animated voice telling him the number was no longer in service, he broke down and cried like a little girl. _Neal is gone._ El stood beside him and hugged his head to her stomach until he stopped and then kissed his head and sent him to bed.

Peter woke up, showered, dressed, ate and drove to the FBI building in a daze the next morning. He was not looking forward to the sight of Neal's empty desk in his direct line of sight all day. In the elevator, he wondered how long it would take for him to find someone who could remove it. He stepped off and braced himself to pass the desk, presumably still covered with Neal's knickknacks and various papers. He pushed through the glass doors and, despite his best efforts to ignore it completely, stared quite obviously at Neal's empty desk.

Except it wasn't empty.

"Morning, Peter," Neal said with his usual cheeky tone, not looking up from his file. Peter gaped at him, trying to relate Neal's presence to the fact that Neal was supposed to be _gone_.

"What…" Peter attempted. Neal flipped the page in his file idly.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"But…you…" Peter shook his head. "I called your cell last night."

"Oh, yeah, I cancelled it," Neal told him matter-of-factly.

"_Why?_"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, it wasn't Neal Caffrey's cell phone. Rather, it belonged to a charming young fellow named Nick Halden," Neal explained with a smartass grin on his face. "Seeing as I'm going straight, I figured I should probably cut ties with any of my illegal possessions and aliases. I have a new phone. It belongs to Neal Caffrey."

"I thought you left," Peter said solemnly. Neal's smile faltered slightly.

"We're partners, Peter," he said with less cheekiness than before. "And partners stick together. Leave no one behind, right?"

Peter's eyes prickled with something that was _absolutely not tears_. Perhaps slightly overcome (with something other than joy), he reached a hand to Neal's shoulder and squeezed.

"Good to see you, Caffrey," he said gruffly before making a beeline for his office.

A couple of hours later, when he was feeling less shocked and more willing to admit happiness, Neal knocked on the glass wall beside his open door. He came in and sat down without being asked.

"I just want you to know that I'm not going to willingly commit anymore felonies," Neal said without preamble. "So you can trust me now. I know it will take a while, but I thought you should know I don't plan on running. I don't plan on going back to jail – and that plan is based on toeing the line, not strategic placement of hats or umbrellas around security cameras."

"Good."

"I want to stay here and work with you," Neal told him without any hesitation. "I talked to Hughes and he's agreed to hire me as an official consultant to the FBI instead of a CI on a work release from prison. If you don't want to continue working with me, I understand. Don't think a rejection is going to send me back to a life of crime. I'm done."

"Neal…"

"I'm not kidding, Peter. Tell me we were partnered for the duration of my work release, that's fine. There are other things I can use my particular skillset for – as a means of upholding the law, of course."

"After everything," Peter said with amazement. "You think you were just a CI?"

Neal shrugged.

"I'm well acquainted with being used for my skills and dismissed when my usefulness came to an end."

"I traveled around the world to save your life, Neal," Peter exclaimed. "Would I do that for some criminal I had in my custody who'd decided to turn fugitive? You're…better than that to me."

Neal smiled, wide and bright-eyed, and Peter knew that's all he needed to hear.

"You're better than that to me, too, Peter," he smiled. "See you Monday."

Peter rode the high of knowing Neal was here to stay all the way home, all the way through dinner, and all the way through Mozzie showing up on his porch ranting about federal mind control and personality-altering microchips embedded in teeth at the dentist's office.

He listened to it all, knowing the poor guy was just getting over the loss of his best partner in crime.

By the time Mozzie left two hours later, he shook Peter's hand and said, "Thank you for saving him."


End file.
